


Our Violet Sunset

by Righ



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ABO themes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Puberty, M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, again this is a sheith fic so get outta here if that isn't your jam, allurance, bit of bodyhorror, s8 compliant to a limit but allura survived, set a couple of years after the end of s8, shiro divorced curtis bc fuck that noise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Righ/pseuds/Righ
Summary: When Keith's galra genes unexpectedly awaken and throw him headlong into galran puberty, he discovers he has more options where his body is concerned and seeks out the help of those closest to him ... and also, after two years apart, Shiro.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i stg this will be a smutty multi-chapter fic
> 
> pls stay tuned for future updates and i promise a happy ending is on the cards :)

Keith woke up groggy and overheated, swimming his way out of the blankets on his cramped bed to stumble over to the refresher on the opposite side of the small ship. Its galran design kept things close at hand with minimal wastage of space so he didn't have to go far before his grip found the toilet and he could empty the surging contents of his stomach into the bowl. With his gaze swirling, lashes spiked with tears from the effort of vomiting, at first he thought he was seeing things: his hands were purple. Lilac, like how Lotor's used to be. Standing up to peer in the small mirror, his focus slowly returned and he yelped in alarm, crashing backwards off the walls and spilling various bottles of shampoo and shaving foam in a wild clatter of startled limbs.

Panting harshly, he drew himself up to peer into the mirror again and his eyes ( _yellow!_ ) widened in alarm.

Two large furry ears had sprouted from where his usual pair would be, his hair had a pink undertone at the nape, and where his mother's stripes covered her cheeks was a lone marking on one of Keith's; the other entirely eaten up by his scar. As the rest of him was revealed with the tossing of a vest he shuddered to find more fur coating his shoulders and the flares of his hips, everything slightly _damp_ and a little bloody. He looked like a cross between a horror movie and a pet show, skin raw purple and fur freshly grown in the time it took for him to fall asleep and wake up hours later. 

Three hours, _fuck_. The chronometer on the wall couldn't be wrong, linked to the main controls. Keith had fucking _evolved_ more galran traits in a few hours than he had over the course of twenty-three years and he shortly christened the moment by once again hurling into the toilet basin as his broiling insides did another number on him.

Fucking _fuck_.

It was a lot to take in.

When he could bear to move with his stomach (still) full of knives he crawled into the shower and switched it from sonic to water, hunched to one side as his ship's precious liquid reserves sloughed off the coppery blood filming his body, shudders chattering his teeth in the cold spray. What he wouldn't have given for a hot shower on Earth. He needed to feel _clean_ and a sonic pulse was fine post-mission but the situation of his body literally rewriting its own physical structure was summarily terrifying; he wanted to drown out his anxieties. His widely shaped ears stung, painfully new when he leaned his head against the wall, fascinated by the similar sting in his fingers where retractable claws had taken the place of blunt nails. Maybe it was morbid curiosity as he watched fresh blood seep from the bases as he extended and retracted them but he only stopped when he finally thought he might pass out, overwhelmed and weak. Thirsty. _Shit,_ he was probably dehydrated and there he was sitting in the only water reserves he had left for days.

He shut off the shower and pulled long gulps from the tap under the mirror, wrapping up in a towel big enough to cover his head. Soaking wet and shivering, he padded his way on unsteady feet to the pilot's chair and crumpled to one side on it, taking a few deep, steadying breaths before sending a transmission to his mother on New Daibazaal.

"Mom," clearing his throat to try and sound less like shit, Keith swallowed. He clicked the option for a video feed. "I don't know what's happening to me."

Leaning forward into the light of the screen revealed more of a bedraggled cat than anything Keith would consider his reflection. He hung his head and let a note of desperation thread into his voice, unable to contain every iota of worry laced through his shaking bones. 

Again, it was a lot to take in. Maybe too much alone.

"Mom, I ... I need your help."

*

An hour passed before Krolia responded, concern etched into her features in a way that had Keith, roused from a panic-ridden nap in his seat at the helm, hugging the towel around him tighter even though his new ears ached, folded down. _Fuck them,_ he stubbornly thought. 

"Come home immediately," said Krolia, insistent without betraying alarm. Surely she felt some, Keith reasoned. He certainly would have if he had been in her position with a child morphing physiology against their will. "Your mission on Pheron II was a success, there's no reason for you not to. Especially now." Krolia paused, then added in a softer tone, "Kolivan is travelling back to the planet. He'll be able to discuss your time of changing better than I could."

"My — My _what_ now?"

It all sounded like a bad sci-fi movie come to life. _What's next,_ he wildly thought, _an alien bursting out of my chest?_ But the fact Krolia wasn't overtly worried was a relief too, in its own way, even if Keith didn't relish the weird terminology she was using and felt like passing out from sheer stress. _This can't be happening._ He would have laid down in his bed but the sheets were sticky with smears of blood from his human skin splitting, stretching, during the night. His pillow looked like that of someone with an open head injury.

"Everything is going to be okay, Keith. Just get home as fast as you can and we'll explain. And, Keith," Krolia's velvet-smooth voice soothed the jangling edges of Keith's frayed nerves, "don't be afraid. What you're going through is perfectly natural for a galra of your age."

"Mom, I'm half-human. This isn't what _they_ go through," he gritted out. "I'm a fuzzy grape!"

His life was a fucking joke. Claws shred part of his towel and he hunched in tighter.

Krolia's lips flattened in a line as she refused to laugh, serene despite the way she blinked a little faster and looked him over with a confident eye.

"You're upright and coherent, that's good. You may feel nauseated for a while longer but when you arrive home that will all go away, you'll see. You'll feel so much better once you're back here with your family, Keith. Trust me."

He didn't understand. His teeth were too sharp and he had bitten his tongue four times already and he had a migraine from the _fucking ears_ pulling on his head with their unnatural weight, but he was going to magically stop wanting to barf up his intestines when he set foot in his mother's house? _Okay. Whatever,_ he couldn't afford to freak out any more than he already was. _Patience yields focus. Get myself home,_ then _have a breakdown. Easy._

Speaking of barfing ...

"Mom, I've gotta go. I'll be back soon —"

He cut off the call just as he lurched sideways out the pilot's chair, barely making it to the toilet in time before his stomach decided it wants to throw up nothing but water.

Keith doubted he was going to ever feel better again, let alone planetside.

*

New Daibazaal was beautiful. 

After the resurrection of both it and New Altea Keith had been more than happy to help Krolia build a home and lay down roots during the construction period. Built out of a rockface and carved into the caves of a mountain, the main city was a beautiful marvel of sleek black surfaces glimmering with violet lights peppering the rough grey stone, a blend of technology and nature that Keith had only ever seen before from the Olkari. Maybe it was the Blade in him but he prefered galran designs with their understated dark hues and soft lighting, the small lost boy in him relishing the opportunity to make a home for himself with his only surviving parent in the swaddling warm hues of the mountain. A land of perpetual sunsets. Back then, Kolivan had visited and offered his advice; the extension of a couple of extra rooms had been easy enough to add when Krolia's house sat in a quieter sector of the mountain and free space was still first-come, first-serve. That was how they ended up with four spare guest bedrooms, perfect for any visiting Blades to rest up in and provided basic amenities to get themselves cleaned and presentable. Krolia ensured each room had new clothes and fresh bedding, she was always prepared for visitors with the efficiency of her years as a Blade to lean on, knowing what people needed most when injured. Kolivan's visits grew more frequent to the point of one room effectively becoming his on a semi-permanent basis, and whenever Keith would come home from a mission he noticed his mother had never moved Kolivan's personal affects. 

So today, as Keith made his way down the ramp of his ship with his hood up and head down, he wasn't surprised to find Kolivan waiting for him on the landing strip. Wasn't surprised (much) when Krolia told him Kolivan would be returning to New Daibazaal to talk him through whatever fucked up mess Keith's body was going through, and was not opposed to the idea of Kolivan and his mom ...

Well. Kolivan _and_ his mom. Period.

Keith figured they both deserved some happiness after everything the universe had been through.

The first thing that hit him was a strong whiff of something oaky. He stared up at Kolivan with a frown only to realise it _was_ Kolivan giving off that smell and _holy shit_ , suddenly the breeze slapped Keith with a dozen different scents from other pilots on the airfield, turning his head this way and that. 

Kolivan's large hand clasped Keith by the arm in time to stop him swaying from the sensory overload, righting him. 

"Keith. I see what Krolia told me was right."

Blinking hard to refocus, Keith sighed. He tugged his hood down further, self-conscious in the sunset's glow. "I look awful, I know."

Kolivan's expression eased just enough to be reassuring in that odd way he had where one look could blend into another unless you knew what to watch out for. Small changes. 

"I'm impressed you're still standing. Come, we'll talk more at your mother's house after you have rested."

Thankfully Kolivan had always been as naturally talkative as Keith and a comfortable silence fell between them as they took to the streets for a fifteen minute walk to the mountain city, the lull in conversation allowing Keith to acclimatise to being back on a planet after a month spent in space on a cramped fighter. The twin suns turned the sky sherbet orange splashed with scudding pink clouds and the air was warm even for autumn as golden-hour bathed the outdoor houses with a friendly glow, black houses gleaming smoothly. Keith pinched his nose as they moved through dense crowds, disliking how overdeveloped his olfactory system had become and thinking back to the last time he had been home before his most recent mission, back before his body decided to melt itself into a galra-heavy approximation of himself. 

He caught sight of his reflection in the side of a house and had to look away, unable to recognise his own face.

Once they cross the threshold of Krolia's home she was there to scoop up Keith in an embrace that eased the tension in his spine, slumping forward into her warmth and _so-good-so-safe_ smell that unraveled all the knots in Keith's mind. Both of them held each other for a lengthy ten seconds and then she brushed down Keith's hood, gently cupping one of the ridiculous ears. He did his best not to wince.

"Your father once asked me what I thought you would look like if you were born resembling me, and I told him straight: _handsome_. And I was right."

" _Mom_."

Krolia smoothed through his hair, thumb running over the pinker hues in his braid (a mirror of hers) that matched the similarly new pallor of his rosy blush. She looked at him with pride and wonder, making Keith feel like the changes were now all too real, cemented into existence by someone else's direct attention. He was grateful for the way she patted him on the shoulder and turned him toward the stairs, reading his exhaustion like a book. 

"Go, sleep. You can eat tomorrow at breakfast."

"Okay."

Unable to summon the energy to demand an answer for his physical changes, he headed off obediently and crashed on his bed in a heap, distracted and simultaneously comforted by scents he now recognised as his own and his mother's on the bedsheets, on the curtains and in the air. 

_Home_ , they said, lulling his eyes closed. _You're safe here._

Keith didn't fight the weirdness.

*

He slept the rest of the night away, shuffling into the kitchen at dawn to find Krolia and Kolivan eating breakfast at the bar. Krolia tidied his messy braid as Keith helped himself to the pot of whatever off-world coffee supplement was percolating, humming his thanks when she set a plate of buttered toast in front of him. He ate ravenously, suddenly starving.

Kolivan was the first to speak, clearing his throat. 

"It's time we discussed what is happening to you. If you wish, your mother will stay."

It was all part of a pre-planned approach, Keith sensed, from the way Krolia nodded from Kolivan to him. 

Wiping butter from his mouth, Keith eyed them blankly. "Why _wouldn't_ I want my mom here?"

"A galra's time of changing is usually guided by an experienced elder," Kolivan explained, to his credit unflustered by what Keith was starting to suspect verged on alien puberty. "Your mother had the same ... _options_ , when she was your age, but given that she decided not to act on them and I did ..."

"I want my mom to hear it, all of it," Keith decided. He looked at Krolia who relaxed a little, grateful for his insistence. "Besides, I'm only half-galra. If this whole thing blows up in my face and goes wrong," his ears flicked, itchy fur rubbed the wrong way from his pillow, "then I'll need both of you in my corner."

With a shared look, Kolivan and Krolia agreed. Keith found himself ushered to the couch in the lounge where his mom sat beside him, Kolivan on the armchair opposite.

"Every female galra has to go through a time of change," Kolivan began. "This is a period in their life when any recessive genetic make-up becomes active and they are able to access physical traits that are rarely easy options for other species. Given how broadly the old empire spread, this was a natural benefit to our people when it came to adapting to new planets and one of the reasons the galra have such diverse appearances."

Keith used one of his new claws to carefully itch behind his ears where the fur was thickest. "So, like human puberty."

"Not quite," said Krolia, placing a hand on his shoulder. "A time of change dictates how your body will primarily remain for the rest of your life, but shape-shifting is not uncommon to tailor-make the body that best suits you. You already experienced that once before."

On the cloning station. How could he forget? Shiro hd told him what he remembered amid hushed apologies, his description of Keith as yellow-eyed and fanged matching the look Keith sometimes got (after fighting or jerking off) since that fateful day. 

Not that Shiro would know that. 

"I wouldn't call it shape-shifting," Keith said uneasily, looking between his mom and Kolivan's patient stares. 

"What you went through was a promising sign that this day would come," said Kolivan. "Your galran genes have awakened and this is why you look different. What we're seeing could be the limit of your change or just the beginning, only you will be able to know which."

Keith looked at his hands, puce-shadowed in the dim light of dawn spilling through the windows.

"What did you mean when you said this ability was useful when it came to taking over planets?"

"Sometimes our species would alter their sex to more closely align with their gender identity, either permanently or periodically. I chose to undergo the former."

Keith blinked at Kolivan, wide-eyed and momentarily speechless. Then he blurted out, "You were a _girl_?"

Krolia sniffed, likely to cover her amusement at Keith's lack of manners but _what the fuck,_ that was news from left-field if ever he heard it. Kolivan nodded, not missing a beat.

"I embraced the change until I felt settled in my body but, yes, I was born female."

"Wow," said Keith, somewhat stupidly for a lack of anything else coming to mind. He had the mental impression of a Pidge-sized girly Kolivan pumping up her muscles until jacked to bursting.

Kolivan graciously continued, leading the conversation back on point and effectively snatching Keith's attention away from daydreams worthy of Lance-level of maturity.

"Your reproductive organs are in flux, Keith. Half-galra like yourself can sidestep the restraints with less permanent effect, some remain genderfluid their entire lives. Your early predilection for growing fangs is a positive sign."

"But I'm a guy," Keith said, rubbing his forehead as a migraine began to build. "I've never wanted to be a girl."

Krolia rubbed his back, a welcome weight at his side that he sank into. "And you don't have to be, starlight. What Kolivan is saying is that your body may potentially be able to meld between forms based on what you want because you _are_ half-galra, it's nothing unheard of for children of two worlds to transition this way as they mature. More importantly, nothing will happen that you don't consciously engage."

"But all this, all the fur and claws and the _ears_ , it all happened in my sleep! I didn't ask for _that_."

"The first change is always unexpected," said Kolivan, giving an uncharacteristically furtive glance sideways. Was he ... _embarrassed?_ "Mine occurred during my first mission with the Blades. Improvisation was ... imperative."

Keith immediately knew with absolute certainty he could live his entire life without needing to hear that story in full.

"The point is, you can't control _when_ the change begins but you _can_ dictate how it plays out," said Krolia, saving Kolivan from something dangerously close to blushing.

Keith sagged forward over his knees. Twenty-four hours ago his biggest concern was finding new boots to replace those he had worn holes in after too many missions, now his ears were picking up the meowing of a cat two gardens over and he was fairly certain his mother at his side smelled like oatmeal. The hysterical part of his brain insisted more toast sounded good, more toast forever, and if he suffocated on bread he wouldn't have to have any more mortifying conversations at all.

Kolivan and Krolia watched him expectantly, so instead of declaring he wanted to end his life via baked goods he sat up and said, "Okay, cool. I get it."

The look they shared was rude as fuck (he was _right there_ ) insinuating he didn't understand, not at all, but they were apparently done giving him a talk scarily similar to cadet sex-ed when he had first joined the Galaxy Garrison, and as much as they were clearly there for him his family wasn't one for gushing.

They trusted him to know his own mind and ask for help if he needed it, which Keith deeply appreciated. Too much of the topic revolved around what he understood to be his organs morphing into new shapes like the inside of a lava-lamp.

He rose, getting a hug from his mom and a bracibg pat on the shoulder from Kolivan, entrenching the weirdness of the day into his memory forever. Kolivan handed over a datapad loaded up with relevant articles and essays that he and Krolia had compiled before breakfast and Keith absconded back upstairs with it as fast as his new lilac legs could carry him. What he readwere daunting real-life accounts of other people's experiences, each header of a new topic weirder than the last as he scrolled down.

_ID: fem/ Is it weird to purr when you're having sex?_

_ID: NONBI/ Grew my new tail in! Looks better than the last attempt!!_

_ID: male/ Finally figured out how the new ovaries work ..._

Keith decided his best and worst idea, his only true option, was to call someone he knew and freak out at them. Someone tactful and clever, but Hunk wasn't answering, or to consult with a genius, but Pidge was also unavailable ...

Reluctantly, he called Lance, who of course picked up on the third ring. Keith double-checked the transmission was set to audio.

"Keith, is that you?"

Clucking noises echoed in the background, leading Keith to suspect Lance was outside on his parents farm. 

"It's me. Hi. I, uh —"

"It's been a month since you last checked in! Where have you been? In the time it's taken for you to call, Allura and I have built my parents a whole new barn!"

"I was on a mission with the Blades," Keith argued defensively, old hackles rising the same way they had when Lance rubbed them wrongly during their teen years. "Look, I ... Something's happened, and I need your advice."

He cringed at the meaningful silence on the other end of the line, broken only when Lance hummed.

" _My_ advice? I'm sorry, could you repeat for the record whose advice it is you need?"

Keith grit his new fangs. "Yours."

"One more time, just so I can remember the true magnitude of this moment —"

"Is that Keith?" said Allura, chiming in from the sidelines. Keith nodded, then recalled that he was hiding behind the audio function like a coward. 

"Hi, Allura. How are you and the kids?"

"We're doing wonderfully, thank you! Did you just say you needed to ask _Lance_ for help?"

She was definitely as confused as her husband, polite manners aside. Keith knew the Paladins' old princess was as nosy as Pidge, she had just always been better at hiding it.

He sighed heavily. "I think it'll be easier to, uh, to show you rather than explain ..."

Lance snorted. " _Show_ us? The suspension is literally killing me."

Keith bit back the reflexive urge to waspishly snap _I wish it would_ , since he was the one who initiated this call, and took a deep breath as he forced himself to switch on the video feed. He was right: Allura and Lance were outside at the McClain farm bathed in midday sunshine with one of their white-haired toddlers playing with a dog in the background. Lance had more freckles than the last time Keith had seen him and Allura was rounder in the face with a healthy glow (as well as all the hearty McClain cooking she was no doubt being treated to during the visit to her human in-laws). They looked happy for all of three seconds before their eyes turned into comical saucers at the sight of Keith.

He could see himself in the square box cornered on the screen, hunched against the pillows on his bed; purple skin, furry bat-like ears, slitted yellow eyes and fangs ... 

Lance hooted so loudly he startlesd a chicken off a nearby fence, dragging the datapad closer.

"Dude! Why are you a _furry_?"

" _Lance_!"

"Thanks, Allura." At least she had the wherewithal to smack her honking husband on the arm when Keith couldn't, even while sporting the same outright shock Keith's appearance provoked. He rubbed his eyes to stave off a migraine. "Kolivan and my mom called it my 'time of change'. Does that mean anything to you?"

She wrestled the datapad out of a shot of Lance's nose-hairs as he fought for breath through incredulous wheezy noises that Keith — _maturely_ — chose to ignore. 

"Certainly," said Allura, surreptitiously tucking her hair behind an ear as she studied the alterations in his appearance, "I suppose it occurred as an off-shoot of your half-galran heritage?"

"That's what my mom said, yeah. I don't know what to do, or what I _should_ be doing ... I shape-shifted in my sleep a day ago and woke up like this, there was — there was blood."

Lance stopped howling, almost tripping over his own feet as he leaned back into view over Allura's shoulder as she nodded. Keith had never been so grateful for her steady reassurance as he was then, fighting back the insane urge to cry in front of his friends. He didn't, ultimately, but his eyes burned. 

"I've heard the change can be painful at first," Allura said, offering a supportive smile, "but it need not be an _unwelcome_ experience. As far as what you _should_ do, that's up to you. Only push your body as far as you want to take it, Keith, and remember that whatever happens you can always call us."

"Yeah," Lance chimed in, still smirking but with a huffed sigh and shake of his head. "Call us if you need to talk. Unless it's about your new _barbed dick_ , in which case feel free _not_ to overshare, like, _ever_ —"

"Okay, I'm done, goodbye," said Keith, waving to Allura who looked ready to strangle Lance out of exasperation. 

With his datapad silent, his room felt emptier than usual. Trying to take his mind off his predicament (and barbed dicks, _holy shit_ , he hated Lance for that mental image) he scrolled through the photo files on the pad to access the house's shared memorybank, pulling up an album simply entitled Paladin Pals. Hunk's idea, at the time of its creation. Cycling through all the photos taken since Honerva was destroyed and all realities were saved, he found himself smiling at the domesticity of new lives being built by his friends. Lance and Allura on New Altea with Coran, Pidge and her family at the labs on Earth, a few dirty selfies from Matt (he thought he had deleted those, oops), Hunk waving from the engineering corps of the Voltron Coalition, and Shiro ... with Curtis. 

The wedding.

Finding a picture of Shiro on his own was impossible so Keith cropped the most recent one of Shiro and Iverson to create a new image solely of his old friend, rolling onto his side as he stared at the smile Shiro wore for the camera. The pale line of his missing wedding ring had been fresh when the photo was taken, just the sight of it had given Keith so much hope ... but then Shiro had never called, and Keith had just kept waiting, and waiting.

And _waiting_.

The silence between them had somehow hurt more than the wedding itself. 

Despite the painful memories just the sight of Shiro was a balm to Keith's soul. He curled up with a pillow, a claw tracing the frames of Shiro's ugly glasses, and the pain in his guts slowly melted away. Apparently missing Shiro fiercely would always be the worst pain Keith could endure and even his stupid body, in the midst of literally shape-shifting his organs, knew it too. He hadn't immediately thought of reaching out to Shiro, not wanting to overwhelm him when they haven't spoken in months — half a year, more like. It had been the elephant in the room since Shiro started dating Curtis, no matter his subsequent divorce of and all the time ensuing in the fallout; Keith hadn't felt like he had _known_ Shiro in over a year. Almost two, he realised with a pang of guilt. 

He really, really missed him. 

"You're an idiot," Keith said to his empty room, biting his lip a little too hard and hissing in pain when he tasted blood. 

On impulse he brought up Shiro's contact details and shot off a short message, spurred on by the sharp pain in his lip. Just, fuck it. _Fuck it, why not?_ If Keith didn't tell him then Shiro would know soon enough through the Lance-fed grapevine like everyone else. He probably couldn't respond but then Keith thought he was far too numb on the subject of Shiro to really be hurt anymore if he didn't anyway. Mostly.

**Can we talk?**

Krolia called up the stairs that she and Kolivan were going out to the market to buy some ingredients for a stew that would ease Keith transitioning, the front door opening and closing to leave him truly alone in a silent house. He rolled onto his back and stared at the black ceiling of his bedroom, curling up when his insides started to cramp uncomfortably for the millionth time. He could have gone downstairs and turned the heating up, that seemed like a good idea. He was hungry all over again but his stomach hurt, which was illogical in the extreme and endlessly frustrating. God, he wanted chocolate. He was _craving_ it, a burger and fries too. Did Krolia even stock junk food when Keith wasn't at home? An investigation of the kitchen cupboards would involve moving from his position to possibly jar his insides all over again and Keith wasn't keen on the idea of vomiting in his mother's house. Krolia had promised the pain would subside when he was back home with his family but it hadn't, it was still knotted up inside. If only he could have fallen back to sleep and pretended this whole thing was a nightmare ...

The datapad pinged with a new message. It was from _Shiro_ , one word that wiped Keith's fretting thoughts and stole his breath.

**Always.**

Something gave in his chest.

Keith cried, quiet and subdued as he sobbed into his hands and hugged the datapad to his chest, rubbing hard at his eyes to wipe the wetness away before a single tear could fall; he would save his pride where he could. When he was mostly done feeling overwhelmed he responded to the message with shaking fingers.

**I need to rest, I'll call you in an hour. If that's okay.**

Keith tried to lie to himself that he wasn't waiting with baited breath for Shiro to reply, then he saw the flashing ellipses and fully committed to the fact he was hopeless, intently watching them fade in and out. It was the middle of the day at the garrison, Shiro must have been busy. Still, he seemingly wasted no time typing back.

**Are you alright?**

Keith chewed his split lip and couldn't entirely blame his hormones for how quickly his fingers flew over the touchscreen. He had to rub his eyes to dry them off for a second time before he was done.

**I just need to see you.**

**I'm here, Keith. We can talk whenever you're ready.**

Keith fell asleep with the datapad alight on the conversation history, sniffling pathetically into his pillow. He missed the window to call, lapsing into a deeper sleep than any since his change had began, all to the memory of being held in strong, sturdy arms, and it didn't ache: the galran change, his history with his estranged best friend, none of it. For the first time in a long time, Keith dreamed of Shiro ...

And it didn't hurt at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shiro is busy admiral-ing as matt says but he has more important shit to do, namely fretting over keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to change the format from first to third person for this chapter, which i also did for the first so apologies about that. i just couldn't keep up the first person accounting. also, matt is basically everyone's savior in this fic, a supportive fuckbuddy for keith in the past and shiro's best bro (shiro being largely adopted by the holts, fight me) which i hope makes up for shiro being estranged from the paladin circle. s8 was a steaming pile of shit but i had to work echoes of it in here somewhere. dead week and zeta week are actually star trek things but they're hilarious so i've stuffed them into this fic.
> 
> pls picture keith being hit with a wave of LOVELY SHIRO STINK bc i'm looking forward to describing that in the next chapter :')

The six-foot-four man striding through the corridors of the Atlas carried a datapad that glowed orange, swiping through the most recent of reports regarding Dead Week hijinks he didn't have time to address. Although the crew stepped around him when he didn't look up he was dimly aware of each of them in the back of his mind through his connection to the ship, Atlas's soft pressure in the base of his skull a reassuring crutch to lean on when it came to the status of the ship in general. Every life, every member of the crew, he could sense them all after three years of experience bonded to the sentient spaceship, and he could also sense the way she was sleeping. Atlas could pilot a course without needing to technically be awake, as Hunk had once put it, lost in the depths of whatever a spaceship thought about until Shiro checked on her, but Shiro also suspected she simply wanted some peace and quiet away from the influx of curious minds newly crammed into shared quarters.

A teenager bumped into him and nervously stuttered out an apology, saluting needlessly and racing off before he could reply. The ship was certainly … _cramped_ , it couldn't be denied.

Dead Week had been assigned revisionary time for garrison cadets but inevitably the sheer weight of stress some were under had caused them to fire off a number of pranks that would need dealing with once exams were over; fireworks let off in the library, instructor's desks buried under heaps of expanding foam, the rick-rolling of every loudspeaker in the base at three-am. Shiro briefly outlined his opinion on the matter ( _suggestion for involved cadets to be given the privilege of cleaning Calypso and other significant crafts to show their appreciation for the garrison at large_ ) and sent the message to Sam planetside, who as chairman would hopefully read the lenient amusement in Shiro's reply and go from there with it. It was understandable that some stress relief would be needed with the cadets facing down two of their biggest challenges to date, a week of planetside exams, now over much to an overwhelming majority's relief, and Zeta Week. Far more highly anticipated, cadets would spend five days aboard vessels during a fleet-wide combat training exercise, assigned to fully commissioned Coalition starships in active service. Two fleets were divided up, Silver and Gold, including everything from small fighter-class vessels all the way up to massive exploratory crafts and relief barges, with cadets responsible for all aspects of ship operation. Weaponry and navigation skills were tested during the faux battles, with the losers decided once one ship's shields were destabilized, but it was the conduct of the cadets that would ultimately determine (and in some cases of poor examination results, sway) their success based on how they managed their onboard stations and meshed as a crew. It was pure excitement for many cadets and the sole reason they had signed up for the Coalition through the Galaxy Garrison on Earth.

Everybody knew the plum positions during Zeta were on the heavy mech-cruiser Atlas, home to Admiral Shirogane and the flagship of the Coalition. Even as trained professionals (in theory) chatter and laughter filled the ship to the brim no matter which direction was taken or deck visited, which was both a rush for Shiro himself and increasingly annoying for the Atlas's real crew who were acting as overseers should anything go wrong, forced to spend a week in close quarters with bubbly under-twenties who had never been into space before.

Shiro didn't have the time to deal with week-old pranks when he was anxious about fielding any that might occur on his own ship.

As hectic as Zeta would be, the energy of the cadets was rubbing off on him. It was definitely affecting the actual crew who had been happy to stand by and write up assessments in theory, but for whom the experience was more like steering over-excited ferrets away from accidentally sending the ship into warp as a result of nerves. Tensions were running high. Thankfully as he entered the bridge, the volume of chatter was significantly muted and all the cadets at their stations were too engrossed in not fucking up in front of the Admiral to disturb the peace. Veronica was already in her first-officer's seat sipping a coffee when Shiro sat down and they exchanged datapads without pause; on hers was the general breakdown of Zeta Week into manageable events, starting with the first encounter between Silver and Gold teams later this afternoon once the alpha-shift cadets were more comfortable at their stations.

"Congratulations on getting here without breaking your neck," said Veronica quietly, idling through Shiro's suggestions for Sam. "Lieutenant Vrashnor almost tripped over a crying sixteen-year-old on his way out of the cafeteria."

Shiro frowned and glanced over, distracted from the day's itinerary. "Crying?"

"Panic attack," said Veronica without looking up. When she did, she huffed in a way that always reminded Shiro of Lance, amused but without judgement. "She was assigned to engineering and the fake evacuation they simulated this morning freaked her out. Finally hit home the reality of being in space."

He couldn't blame the kid. That was, however, exactly the point of Zeta Week, to weed out those who would be better stationed planetside or have their skills relocated to a station. The very concept of _nothingness_ never seemed to hit cadets until they were surrounded by it, something Shiro could personally assert was genuinely and understandably terrifying.

"Well, it looks like we're in for a fun day," he said, scrolling down until he hit a highlighted note. A frown dug into his brow. "What's this from Sam?"

"Oh, yes. You'll need to send your advisory notes to Iverson planetside, not Sam," said Veronica, sitting up and waving Shiro's datapad. "We had a transmission come through about an hour ago, it was Sam. He worm-holed out here last night and should be joining us within the hour for a short rendezvous."

"Why?"

"All the details are in their report, Admiral."

Curiously eyeballing Veronica who did the same right back, Shiro settled in his seat as the bridge hummed all around with demure activity and opened the correspondence.

_Minor rift discovered in the Ravi Sector, energy output classified: Liability, immediate investigation warranted. Commander Holt and Dr. Holt assigned._

The guilty thought crossed his mind that he was grateful for an excuse to see two-fourths of the Holts even under such sporadic circumstances, forcing himself to compartmentalise his emotions before addressing Veronica at his side who was forwarding his report to Earth and Iverson, who would undoubtedly work the poor cadets who returned in a week's time twice as hard for their pranks. As if they wouldn't be a wreck after Zeta, involved or not.

"Commander and Doctor as in, Matt?"

Veronica nodded, her eyes keen on Shiro behind the gleam of her glasses. "That's right, in the call they made he said he was looking forward to seeing your ship overrun by hormonal pimples. He also said that's the only reason he's coming, to watch your inevitable meltdown."

"Ha, ha." God, it would be good to see Matt. "How long is their layover? I take it they're coming for supplies before they head over to the Ravi Sector."

"Fuel and food, yes." Veronica's attempt not to look amused has the same effect on Shiro. "Apparently, they left in somewhat of a hurry."

"I'm shocked."

A rift opening up in space for the first time in three years, close enough to Earth to give Sam and Matt an excuse to investigate? They had probably leapt out of their beds and barrelled into the first ship that could carry them into space, leaving silhouettes of their bodies in the walls. With that meeting on the horizon and a host of cadets to put through their paces, Shiro's week was looking to be chock-a-block with little room for sleep or downtime. Even if it proved challenging on his patience, he was looking forward to it; he loved his job.

"You have two-hundred requests for participation in this afternoon's event to sign off before we can take part in Zeta, by the way," Veronica reminded him, immediately tanking his mood when she leaned over to flick the page on his datapad to what looked like an endless list of said requests, attached to bloated questionnaires filled in by the applicants. It was a formality, all of them would get a chance to participate and the bridge already had its quotient of cadets in place, but it needed to be logged as official paperwork.

Veronica smirked. "I'm going to grab another coffee. You want one?"

"Save me," agreed Shiro under his breath, rubbing his eyes before he sat back and got started approving appeals.

He loved his job, sure. Most days. 

*

Sam and Matt arrived at lunch and Shiro, under the scrutiny of a knowing Veronica who smoothly took the conn without comment, hurried down to the hangar bay to meet them. Sam hugged him tightly and patted him on the back, then went to direct the crew unloading his scientific equipment with less than careful hands from the shuttle. Shiro looked over to the loading ramp in time to see Matt racing toward him. He caught him in a hug with a laugh, loving the scent of something earthy and homely that could only come from spending time planetside. It must have been his imagination but he could have sworn he smelled Colleen's orchids, too.

"I've missed you, space!" Matt yelled, leaning back with a whoop. He thumped Shiro on his left arm and winked. "And you too, I guess. Hey, you got new the updates to your arm! Look at this fancy elbow."

Where Shiro's floating right arm had been was now connected a smooth white arm of a similar size to his real one, a significant departure from the one designed for combat. From his port to his fingertips, his arm gleamed like the bones of the Atlas, the Balmera crystal safely tucked inside.

"Hunk attached it last time he was aboard," said Shiro, letting Matt turn his hand over in blithe curiosity. "I keep forgetting that elbow's there and knocking into things with it."

Matt snorted, giving him a high-five. They watched Sam fret over unloading the crates of equipment wearing the same fond smile.

"Katie wanted to come but Mom wouldn't let her," Matt elaborated, a knot curling tightly in Shiro's chest at the mention of Pidge. "She sent me some updates for the new design from her and Hunk that we can input later, after you're done giving cadets heart-attacks with faux battles."

"Sounds good. Should we help your dad?"

"Nah, he's good. Let him organise all of that, he's full of vim and vigour from finally getting back out here and probably needs to work it off," said Matt, sharing a look and a nod with his father that waved off a silent communication of the same question. When he smiled up at Shiro his green eyes were warm, freckles on his cheeks from spending time in the sun. It had been a year since Shiro had been on Earth with any of his friends, aside from Veronica and those he shared polite acquaintances with on the crew. After Curtis, he was wary of getting into anything new. Frankly, it was his dream job but he was lonely as all hell.

He missed his friends; his _family_.

Matt slung an arm around Shiro's waist and guided them toward the turbolift doors. "Come on, _Admiral_ , I've eaten nothing but two ration bars since we left Earth at two in the morning last night. Show me where a guy can get the best mac and cheese in the galaxy."

A half-hour later and Matt was moaning happily through a mouthful of pasta, hugging the bowl to his chest. They sat at a table out of the way of the cadets who were off-duty, although Shiro was given the usual berth as usual, given his rank. It was almost jarring to be treated so normally when the majority of his days were spent being thankful for Veronica's no-nonsense attitude and refusal to defer to him like nine-tenths of the crew did. Matt chewed open-mouthed and Shiro watched him with his chin in his prosthetic palm, fondly and selfishly soaking up every minute of their time together. All too soon Sam and Matt would be shipping out in search of the rift, which Shiro and Matt's current conversation revolved around.

"The first in _years_ ," said Matt through a mouthful, pausing to chug down orange juice. He was disgusting, completely out of place in the immaculate cafeteria. Shiro loved him fiercely as he watched a cheesy fork animatedly wave around. "We expected to see some minor fluctuations in the decades after, you know," _Allura's near-death experience that no one liked to speak about_ , "that would be an understandable variable given the sheer scale of what happened, but this is all happening way too quickly. The stability between all known dimensions should be a sure thing for at least our lifetime, and yet!"

"And yet," parroted Shiro, sipping on his second coffee of the day. "What's going on, Matt? You rushed out here at a moment's notice. Is this rift a bad sign?"

"We can't possibly know until we investigate," said Matt, "that's why we came. Plus, the Ravi Sector is where Zeta Week is supposed to culminate and if we don't clear the system you'll have to relocate your tactical exercises elsewhere, which'll be a pain for everyone. Mainly you. I'm basically saving your ass, buddy."

"Oh." Honestly, Shiro hadn't read the full itinerary from Veronica but he knew with certainty he didn't want to have to implement a diplomatic intervention with a new star system with the explanation that they needed to let a few hundred cadets shoot at each other. "Yeah, makes sense."

"You had no idea that's where you would end up at the end of Zeta, did you? At Ravi," said Matt flatly, with a look over his mac and cheese that had no right being so shrewd for someone with globs of cheddar splashed over his chin.

"It's all go," said Shiro with a conceding shrug, sinking back in the uncomfortable cafeteria chair. "The Coalition affairs have been put on pause this week for Zeta and the garrison has been sending me their exam reports on cadets. I've had to issue all the captains in the fleet a breakdown of suitable crew candidates for consideration, but all that's probably going to change after Zeta anyway. People react differently on the ground to how they do on a spaceship, we've already seen it start to happen."

Matt whistled lowly. "I don't envy you, that's a lot of shitty, pointless paperwork."

Shiro grunted.

"You've done this twice before, man, don't stress out. It'll be over before you know it and your sparkly ship will be empty of walking pimples in no time."

Three years since the Coalition significantly beefed up the garrison with ships and crews, transforming Earth into the technological hub of the galaxy. Two years as captain. One year as Admiral. Shiro wouldn't object to melting right into Atlas's walls next year to avoid some of the workload, if only for a week or two around the end of planetside term-time.

Digging around in his pasta for a heaped forkful, Matt added, "At least you're not as stressed as Keith, right? Poor bastard." Shiro's vision tunnelled away from the idling cadets at the vending machines right back to Matt, staring wide-eyed in alarm that Matt caught onto quickly enough to hastily ask, "You were told, right?"

"Told what?" asked Shiro, vying for an even voice even as something icy slid down his spine.

"Shit. I thought Lance would've at least mentioned it —"

" _Matt_ , what's wrong with Keith?"

"He's gone full galra." The words sent dread down into the pit of Shiro's guts, flipped back up when Matt gave a snort and said, "He's going through his purple puberty?"

Shiro stared, dumbstruck. Keith was on his mind when he was alone, true, he was never far from Shiro's worn-out, aching heart, but to have his name mentioned out loud for the first time in months was jarring enough that Shiro couldn't immediately digest the panic flaring up his throat like bile. Matt frowned when his joke hit a wall and pushed his bowl aside, reaching over to place a hand over Shiro's fist which had balled up without his knowledge.

"Hey, _hey_. He's okay."

"He is?"

"Oh my god, _Shiro_. Please stop looking like I told you he yeeted himself out of an airlock." That was enough to get Shiro's shoulders to relax with Matt patting his hand. "Lance called Katie yesterday to let her know Keith was undergoing his _galran change_ , or whatever they call it. From what she told me, he's gaining full access to his biorhythms as a hybrid."

"A hybrid." That was such a horridly clinical word, better reserved for plants and animals. Not _Keith_. Shiro's head swam. Should he call Keith? Why hadn't Keith called _him_? "He spoke to Lance about it?"

"Who then went and told everyone else," said Matt, sitting back with a frown newly in place. "Uh, except for you."

That hurt. It shouldn't have, Lance shouldn't have been spreading around Keith's business at all, but to be left out of the loop entirely …

Matt was suddenly at Shiro's side, hand on his shoulder and a tactful softness in his voice as he read Shiro's astonished silence. "I thought you already knew."

"No, no one contacted me." Shiro tried to pull himself together under Matt's sympathetic gaze. Being reasonable was the only option, otherwise he would work himself up into a worried tornado on the spot. "If Keith's doing okay then there's no need for me to know what's going on, he'll be fine. Right?"

"Right," said Matt firmly, still unconvinced by Shiro's carefully neutral expression. "Well, don't sweat it. Katie said the puberty thing only lasts a couple of days, Keith should be right as rain by the weekend." He paused. "Dunno if he'll still be purple, though."

"Wait, he's _actually purple_?" Shiro's neutrality crashed and burned as he stood up to search Matt's eyes for the truth. "How is that possible?"

"Hybrid, like I said." God, Shiro was beginning to hate that word. Matt shrugged. "Katie said Lance described him as a furry, no word of a lie."

Shiro's brain fried a little. He passed a hand over his face, appreciating the pat on the arm he received.

"Shiro," Matt said, the finality in his tone prompting him to look up and meet the steady stare in assessing green eyes. "If you're that worried about him, you can always call."

"He obviously doesn't want me to know!"

"When was the last time you spoke to each other? You're _Admiral Shirogane_ , he probably knew how busy you were. How busy you _always are_."

The table creaked under Shiro's weight as he sank down on it, perched in a slump. "If he's going through something like that then he can't be alone, is he with Krolia?"

"From what Katie told me, he called Lance from New Daibazaal, so I'd say it's a safe bet."

"Then that's why he didn't call me, he already has his family with him."

Matt's expression shuttered, his kind patience briefly exasperated. "You're still his best friend, aren't you? _Call him_. I'm not sprouting fur and fangs but I know _I'd_ appreciate it if you dropped me a line more often too."

That was what pulled Shiro out of his moping, meeting Matt's unrepentant stare. Hurt lurked beneath it, not much but enough that Shiro couldn't stand to have put any there at all. Was he really so terrible at keeping in touch with his friends? They had once all been so close. 

"Matt ..."

"I have to go help Dad set up the new shuttle we're taking to Ravi, we'll meet you for dinner later." Much to Shiro's relief, Matt leaned in for a hug, patting him on the arm. No hard feelings, Shiro sensed, just the expectation that Shiro knew he had shit to make up for and would. He _would_. Matt sighed, hitching up a smile. "Go back to _admiral-ing_ or whatever it is you do, and for god's sake, _call Keith_ if it's bothering you that much."

Left alone in the cafeteria with only the curious glances of cadets for company, Shiro knew in his gut he couldn't. Not if Keith didn't want him to.

*

The first event of Zeta went off without a hitch, if eleven fainted cadets, five vomitings, and another panic attack were anything to go by. Better statistics than the previous year, at least, and Atlas had won the faux-battle. It didn't feel like much of a victory, however: the cleaning crew were still taking care of the mess Cadet Popov had made of the navigation console while Shiro and Veronica stood as far away as possible on the bridge, barely restraining themselves from fleeing the scene entirely into the Admiral's ready room. Shiro was praising every deity out there when the air-fresheners were finally deployed, lowering his hand whereas Veronica refused to stop pinching her nose as she glared at the mop buckets.

"I hate Zeta," she declared under her breath with no small force, loud enough for Shiro to hear but not enough to make the new Beta-Shift cadets filing in feel bad. The new navigation trainee blanched at the sight of where he would be working. _Sorry, pal._ "Are you going to see the Holts off after dinner?"

"Yeah. Veronica," Shiro began, not knowing how to phrase his concerns. _Has Lance contacted you to let you know Keith is purple now and going through puberty for a second time, physically growing fur?_ It sounded too stupid, even in his head. Under her gaze he settled for, "Have you heard from Lance recently?"

_Smooth._

"No, why?"

"Just wondering," said Shiro, thinking up an excuse on the spot. "I don't want the communications cadets to be the reason we fall out of contact with Earth like last year."

"Comms isn't what I'd worry about," said Veronica with a dooming nod to navigation. 

"Mm. Well, I think I'll head off early, see if Sam and Matt are done tinkering with their Atlas shuttle. They won't eat if I don't remind them."

"Go, I've got this."

Shiro eyed Veronica long enough for her to lower her hand from her nose and straighten up, as if meeting a challenge. "You do, huh. Even with all the sick buckets?"

"The next person to throw up gets to _use_ those buckets to clean up their own mess," Veronica said, loudly enough for the cadets to actually hear her this time. "I have the conn, Admiral." In an undertone, she added, "But bring some nose-plugs with you when you come back."

"Acknowledged, Commander."

Dinner with the Holts was a pleasant affair after Matt eagerly upgraded Shiro's arm and any grudges he held were shed when Shiro promised the full cooperation of the Atlas while they operated out deep in Ravi space, a wormhole licensed specifically for them to slip through back-and-forth as circumstances dictated. They would still take with them all the supplies they needed for a two-week science expedition but Shiro was reluctant to leave them out there alone, even in a peaceful quadrant when they knew what they were doing, and they were grateful. He knew because Matt flicked a potato at him over the table.

"It's a fascinating anomaly," Sam went on, his experience as a father allowing him the grace to ignore when Shiro fired back at Matt with his peas (Matt tried and failed to bat them away with his knife). "A rift like that, detected all the way from Earth … Why, it must be excessive in girth with a gravitational pull of — Matt, don't get mayonnaise on the Admiral."

"Yeah, Matt," Shiro grinned.

Matt looked mutinous.

"Boys," said Sam, drawing their attention away from a food war more important than anything planned for Zeta Week, "it's no secret that I've been somewhat stagnating at the garrison these past few months, we all have a little, and even though we have no idea what kind of consequences to expect from the study of the new rift I must say, I'm so grateful we have this chance to catch up. Shiro, you're looking well. How have you been?"

With the same lump in his throat that always arose when the Holts referred to him as though one of their family, he nodded encouragingly. He may have been Admiral Shirogane to everyone else and also had the Holts' respect in that regard, but he would have gone mad without their loving support. Being treated like their son was never going to be a feeling he took for granted or one that got old.

"Well, thank you." Aside from the scare about Keith's well-being earlier, for which Matt sent him a shrewd peer over the table, Shiro regretted very little since accepting the captaincy of Atlas, let alone the admiralty. Not even the (inevitable) dissolution of his marriage. He smiled for Sam's sake. "It's more paperwork than I anticipated but remaining an active-Admiral has helped, Zeta Week requiring an overseer with experience in battlefield strategy and ship deployment is a nice change. Keeping an eye on the fleet dispersal across the galaxy is a stimulating challenge, I like to know where our people are and how best to help them readily if they need the support of the Coalition. The Olkarian Legate is a big help, she drops a call in every few months so we can compare how the interplanetary alliances are faring from opposite sides."

Matt yawned, biting off half a roast potato. "Sounds boring."

"It's fulfilling," Shiro corrected, balling up a napkin to toss Matt's way and successfully landing it in his gravy. He cocked his head at Sam who was was watching him attentively. "I have a lot to do and I'll admit, it keeps me busier than I'd like at times."

The look Sam spared Matt told Shiro all he needed to know about whether Matt had voiced his frustrations over their estranged friendship, but he had nothing for Shiro except a reassuring smile.

"You're doing excellently, Shiro, we're all very proud of you. What you're undertaking is a huge responsibility." There was a chastisement for Matt in there somewhere, if he had looked up from poking the serviette in his food. Sam went on, looking Shiro in the eye. "Don't forget to take time off, though. You'll work yourself to the bone if you're not careful."

"Says you," Shiro gently said.

Sam huffed for show. "I admit, I forget when one meal ends where the other ought to begin, but, Shiro," and this time Sam pinned him with a look that nailed down Shiro to his seat, feeling like a lieutenant again, "you can't neglect your own happiness."

Everyone knew about the trashfire that had been his marriage to Curtis. A whirlwind romance of six months, two newly-weds living in an unrealistic bubble where Shiro gave up his job, his dreams, the _stars_ , in an effort to be normal and escape the horrors he had known. All the trauma since the failed Kerberos mission returned to wear him down with nightmares, sleeping and otherwise, to briefly put a tremor in his prosthetic hand. All those images of torture and mutilation from the gladiator pits (the things he had done to _survive_ ) and the clone's tragic memories blending into his own, finally caught up with him and in less than a year he was a twenty-six-year-old divorcee with no consignment or purpose in life. Ashamed. Worthless. _Broken_.

Curtis hadn't known in the slightest what the hell kind of mess he had taken on, he couldn't be blamed for walking away. Any normal person would have done the same.

Matt had been stationed at the garrison nearby at the time. He had been the one to set Shiro up with a therapist at the base, not a difficult thing to do when Iverson and Sam got involved and, together, Shiro was slowly allowed to piece himself back together. They took so many pictures on the day he accepted the commission of captain, it had been one of the happiest of his life, barely second to when he heard Atlas crooning in his head again, welcoming him back with so much love and support he had dropped to his knees beside her in the dust of the airfield and sobbed.

Matt met his eyes across the table with a forkful of sloppy mayonnaise poised to fire but forgotten, his gaze soft.

Shiro inhaled, meeting Sam's patient expression head-on. This time he didn't have to fake a smile, so incredibly touched to have them in his life. Sure, Shiro had saved Matt back in the arena by taking his place, but the Holts had been taking care of him ever since at every single turn. They always had.

"I'm okay," he said, meaning it this time. Okay was fine. Not happy, perhaps, but fine. He was content. "If you two need anything out there, all you have to do is hail us. We'll put Zeta on pause if we have to, it's only a training exercise."

"Now then," said Sam, sitting up as the atmosphere lightened. Matt decided not to waste his mash on Shiro and ate it instead. "There's no need for that! You'll be out here having a whale of a time, I'm sure. The cadets have been thrilled about Zeta coming up for months, we can't disappoint them. Remember how you first felt when we took you into space?"

That was a long time ago, back when Shiro had been eighteen, the youngest pilot in garrison history to take anyone up past the stratosphere.

"I loved it," he confirmed, to Sam's approving nod.

"Precisely, took to it like a duck to water! Unlike this one —"

"Uh, I'm not a pilot," Matt pointed out, indignant on principle.

"— who puked in the toilet on the way to Kerberos without activating the inertial dampers —"

"Dad!"

Sam waved his fork in a very Matt-like way, only with more authority as Shiro tried not to laugh. "Carrots _everywhere_!"

The Holts bickering was interrupted by a beeping from Shiro's phone. His expression must have dropped when he checked the sender ID because Matt cleared his throat.

"Everything alright?"

**Can we talk?**

"It's Keith."

Matt blinked, then yawned and gave his dad a look so unsubtle that Sam was forced to ask, "Shiro?"

"Dinner's been a blast but we should get in a few hours' sleep before we shoot off. Right, Dad?"

"Oh, um. Yes, I suppose that would be wise."

Shiro did his utmost to ignore the curious looks Sam was sending Matt as all three of them rose. He left his phone on the table and gave his attention to hugging them both, conscious of the fact he might not see them for another two weeks until their shuttle was scheduled to return, and when they left the last thing he saw was Matt pointedly glancing from Shiro to the phone, mouthing _Talk to him!_

Minus the Holts the silence in his cabin was oppressive. He texted back quickly, not wanting to miss an opportunity to speak to Keith after such a long radio-silence.

 **Always**.

That was probably too much. Head in a hand, phone in the other, he stared at his mashed potatoes blankly as though they could impart wisdom. After a couple of minutes he rose to clear the plates but was stopped by the same _ping_ , immediately shoving the crockery into a heap as he took a seat again. Knowing what he did from Matt (via Pidge, via _Lance_ ) he was glad to be caught up on what Keith was going through even through a third and fourth party. It gave Shiro the clarity of mind to approach the matter with as much tact and support as Keith would need, especially if his body was going through intensely physical changes. That had to be frightening.

**I need to rest, I'll call you in an hour. If that's alright.**

His hand slid down to cover his mouth, holding in the sigh that wanted to beat out of his chest. Had it really come to this, that Keith had to ask him whether it was okay or not for them to talk? Shiro had hurt Matt's feelings by pushing him to the back-burner and they talked more regularly than Shiro and any of the former Paladins. How must Keith be feeling right now?

Shiro had never felt like he had fucked up more … except for telling another man _Yes_ too many years ago to take back. 

"Keith ..."

**Are you alright?**

The reply came quicker that time. It also broke open the guilty fractures in Shiro's ribs all the faster, so honest and direct that he could almost hear the words in Keith's voice.

**I just need to see you.**

_Fuck_.

The room was quiet in the wake of Shiro's deep, steadying breath.

**I'm here, Keith. We can talk whenever you're ready.**

The next hour felt like a hundred, filled in with the white noise of showering and getting into his civvies for bed. Keith never called. Shiro bit his thumbnail where he sat on the end of his bed, a creature of unrest unravelling in his stomach like writhing snakes, assuming the worst. Back when they had been closer ( _closest_ ) Keith was always prompt in his calls, regular like clockwork so that he never kept Shiro waiting. It was a devotion that Shiro had taken for granted, if his impatience was any indicator.

His scrolling fixated on Krolia's number; he pressed it and stood up, hand on a hip as he stared into the middle-distance.

The voice that answered was level, as direct as her son's.

"Yes?"

"Krolia, hello. It's Shiro."

Her silence was surrounded by the muffled chatter of what sounded like company, somewhere outside. "Yes, I noted your call sign."

Straining for the right words, Shiro hung his head. She couldn't see the way he shook it, eyes screwed shut, but it was hard to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

"Is Keith alright?"

Again, that long pause. Krolia had every right to judge him for asking; Keith had come to Shiro's wedding but she had not. Her refusal had confounded him at the time.

Not any more, not with his emotions railing against all his mistakes surrounding Keith who was now so far out of reach he might as well be in the Ravi Sector beside the new rift. When Krolia finally answered it was with a steely tone that brooked no idle conversation, apparently having decided he _was_ worth talking to at all. The relief was palpable as he paced.

"Keith is at home, recovering. Did he contact you?"

"Yes, he said he wanted to talk to me." Shiro winced and forged ahead. "But, actually, I heard from our friends that he told Lance he's going through a — a purple puberty?"

Krolia did snort then, hopefully amused instead of scornful. "He is undergoing a time of change, all galra do so at his age. The process is harder for him than most, as a child of two bloodlines."

"I heard that, too." _Shit_. "I mean, I heard he wasn't well, that's why I'm calling."

"Shiro," said Krolia steadily, the noise of the crowd dying down as if she had she stepped somewhere more private to hold the conversation, "What were Keith's exact words?"

"He messaged me to say he needed to see me. Should I call him, would that be … Can I?"

If Keith was sick at Krolia's house then it felt improper to circumvent her involvement when he was her son under her care. Shiro didn't want to do any more damage than he already had, but then Krolia sighed and he got the sense he had somehow fucked up again.

"If he reached out to you directly then it won't be enough to see you on a datapad screen, you'll need to come here."

" _What_?"

"You have something better to do, I assume?" Krolia's clipped voice could snap people in half when she wanted it to.

Shiro swallowed, thinking about the itinerary for Zeta, lending long-range support to the Holts, and what it might mean for the rift to be showing up now even if the brass at the garrison weren't quite panicking.

Then he pictured Keith balled up in pain, and everything in Shiro came to a perfect halt. The universe reorientated itself back into a perspective he hadn't seen in far too long.

"Shiro?" said Krolia, muttering to someone on her side of the line.

"I'll be there," he said, confirming it with a nod to his empty quarters. Krolia's silence this time sounded more stunned than scathing. "Tell him — Tell Keith I'm coming. Please."

"... If you're certain."

"I am," Shiro said, already casting a look around his room for what to take with him, snatching up his datapad to message Veronica who would absolutely be furious with him for leaving her with a ship full of barfing teenagers. He mentally sent her an apology, then a couple of real ones in his note when she replied in pure exclamation marks. "Tell Keith he'll see me soon."

Atlas could have used him, but it didn't need him. He would still be Admiral Shirogane from New Daibazaal, Veronica could contact him if there was an emergency. 

_Frankly_ , he thought as he ended the call and started tossing his clothes into a duffel bag, _I have a bigger one._

*

Touchdown on the galran home planet was easy compared to the ride over and Shiro's only regret was not wearing a hoodie as the cool breeze licked at the neck of his henley.

Seven hours and forty-five minutes after his call with Krolia, Shiro finally set foot on the sandy dirt of New Daibazaal. To say Veronica wasn't happy with him running off at the beginning of Zeta Week would have been an understatement, until his news about Keith softened her ire and she all but pushed him out of Atlas's hangar bay herself. She had two years' worth of experience at his right-hand with the debacle that was Zeta and she knew the itinerary better than he did, Shiro has zero qualms about leaving her in charge. _You're the Admiral_ , she reminded him, _You have to go where you're most needed. That's not here with this rabble._ She was the best first-officer in the entire fleet and he resolved to give her a week's extra shore-leave next time she requested a holiday. 

Matt had looked nothing short of smug when Shiro rolled up in his civvies to the hangar, a bag on his shoulder (Sam was oblivious to the reasoning but pleased Shiro was taking some time off, evidently thinking his advice had contributed to turning Shiro faintly rebel against his own duties). 

"Tell Keith Hi for me," said Matt, smacking Shiro on the arm and then wincing when he belatedly remembered it was not, in fact, made of flesh.

So, here he was. One shuttle, one wormhole, and hours later, Shiro stood on Keith's adopted home planet with no recollection of where the fuck he was supposed to go. It hit him as he wandered his way into the streets, about to call Krolia when she got to him first.

"I'm at the end of the airfield, I can see the market."

"You're not far, I'll send directions."

The call ended abruptly but he didn't take offence, not after knowing Keith for so long. Krolia's temperament was like a distilled version of her son's. 

Walking through New Daibazaal was a throwback to his first and only visit years ago after the planet was brought back by Allura. The city was no longer a mishmash of roughly erected houses but cut out of the very rocky terrain and the mountain itself, black buildings laced with violet lights were kept glossy by the nightly desert winds and the main mountainhome of the galra was alight with what looked like purple fireflies, warm specks of light from innumerable houses nestled inside. Modernity meant that tech was everywhere and easily accessible but Shiro enjoyed the rustic nature of the huge market he had to walk through in order to get to the residential mountain, anonymous for once and having to muscle his way through the menagerie of aliens who all bore vague similarities to the pureblood galra. _Hybrids._ The word sprang to mind of its own volition, unwanted from his memories in Matt's voice. The war was long over yet it was no surprise that fewer races were settled on New Daibazaal than say, New Altea, a stigma assigned to the galran race as a result of an Empire that lasted thousands of years. The galran people themselves, however, were incredibly diverse in appearance, and it hit home as Shiro stepped around a tentacle-ridden humanoid how widely the species had dominated the galaxy. The one wonderful thing about the place that outsiders rarely saw was how accepting of each other the new age galras were, furred or scaled or dripping in slime (like Tentacle Boy over there). Nobody was an outsider.

Keith would have blended right in if his appearance had been truly altered. He may have stood out like Shiro with his pale human skin, but if he looked anything like what Lance's mental approximation of a _furry_ implied he would belong to his home in a new way. Would he embrace that? From the sound of things from Matt, Keith had been having a hard time accepting what he was going through, whether surrounded by fellow galra or not.

During his flight over from Atlas, Shiro had spent his time reading up on galras changing their appearances as much as he could. He felt better prepared to handle the situation and had even made sure to wear a shirt that he remembered Keith had commented on liking years ago, familiar sights and smells apparently able to soothe the distress a galra going through their change might be feeling, drenched in a sensory overload for the first time in their life. There wasn't a whole hell of a lot to go off unfortunately, even with Veronica sending him new articles when she was supposed to be on duty, but he felt like he was putting his all into something and it was a damn sight better to feel that way than completely unprepared. With no idea what to expect during his stay Shiro had packed lightly; most of what he brought with him was sheer willpower and a stubborn determination to help.

He tried not to think about how how he would have felt had Krolia told him to stay away.

The mountainhome was harder to navigate than the streets outside but his fumbling back-tracking was noticeable enough that a kindly old galran female directed him to one of the upper-levels with specific directions absent from Krolia's map, ostensibly because his eyesight was so predictably bad in the dim lighting and he couldn't read the galran signs under amber lamplight worth a damn. He thanked her and hurried along, soon face to face with a solid black wall whose only sign of owning a door was the violet card-key point to one side. He knocked on the front of the smooth black rockface, jumping back a step when the door seamlessly hissed open.

The sight of Krolia almost gave him a heart-attack, her expression was so similar to one of Keith's. She paused to see him in the flesh and he awkwardly adjusted the strap of his bag, letting her take in the sight of him ready to put in the effort and keep his word, but before she could say a single word it was another voice that made Shiro glance down the corridor.

"Shiro?"

It was Keith, but it also wasn't. Shiro knew now without a doubt that Krolia hadn't said a word about him coming; how could he blame her when she was only looking out for her child, clearly unwilling to trust Shiro with Keith's heart a second time around (with good reason), an unrepentant shadow who moved to the side to let Shiro take a few steps inside. He only had eyes for Keith.

For once, Lance hadn't been exaggerating.

"You said you wanted to see me," said Shiro, setting his bag to one side as he halted a foot away from Keith and watery yellow eyes, missing their dark indigo hue but seeing Keith in every aspect of his new body all the same. He was changed, but he was still _him_.

Keith looked like he wanted to cry as he nodded, disbelieving. In a crumpled tshirt and sweatpants he looked so much smaller and fragile than he actually was, not so much shorter than Shiro himself.

"So," Shiro gently continued, opening his arms and hoping he wasn't going to be told to hit the road after too long a separation. "Here I am, Keith."

There was a pregnant pause between them where he forgot to breathe.

The weight of Keith throwing himself into his arms almost knocked Shiro to the floor with galran strength but he planted his heels and caught his breath in relief, burying his face in black hair. He heard a sob and a huge sniff against his chest when his arms wrapped around Keith and held on tight, the world falling away in importance compared to cradling Keith in his arms, safe and sound. Loved. _So loved_. God, he was so much warmer than usual.

"I've got you, I'm here. I'm right here, Keith ..."

Claws pricked the front of his shirt as Keith dug his nails in but Shiro didn't let go, their embrace only loosened when Keith pulled away enough to look up, the light lilac fur dusting his cheeks smudged with tears and a hiccup in his voice. His lip was sliced at one side, likely a clumsy result of his new fangs. 

"I'm so glad," he said quietly, as though it cost him all his energy not to break down, faintly trembling.

Shiro pulled him back into his arms, his voice a stranglehold of emotion as he closed his eyes.

"Me too."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the rating is going up with this chapter and i'm adding more abo warnings to the tags, so if you don't like the heavier side of the galra!keith au then press x now :)))

When he was a cadet of seventeen, Keith was offered a smoke on the rooftop of the garrison where other anti-social types (ironically) hung out. He declined, but he saw the effects of the cigarette on the others, including hooting so loudly that the lieutenant on duty had to come fetch them while Keith hid behind an electrical box, and he made a mental note never to smoke anything in his life if he wanted to preserve his dignity, nicotine or not. _Especially_ not. So, even though he knew the dopey look of it, prior to today Keith had no direct experience with being high. 

With his nose buried in the centre of Shiro's chest he finally imagined it would feel a lot like this.

"Keith, shall we let Shiro find his room? It's been a long day and I'm sure he wants to rest."

Keith heard his mother but his head was fuzzy and Shiro smelled _so good_ , his shirt was like a drug and it took all of Keith's self-control to limit himself to rubbing his nose against that solid wall of muscle. He tilted up his chin, cheeks still shining with shed tears, and the way Shiro cupped it to better search his eyes for an answer on Krolia's behalf was gentler than anything Keith had ever known. 

There was a possibility he was high-strung, sure.

"Keith," Krolia began again, this time stopped by the low rumbling coming from his throat. She froze immediately.

Keith blinked back into himself, coughing as the impromptu noise fell apart. _Holy shit_ , had he just _growled_ at his mom?

"Keith," this time it was Shiro who said his name, making it a far easier task for Keith to listen. His head felt like cotton-candy and he was dimly aware of Krolia moving away to fetch Kolivan from another room, but all that mattered was the way Shiro was holding him up. His scent, thick and heady, better than anything in the house that made Keith sway a little. Shiro tugged lightly on an eartail. "Hey," he said, looking slightly overwhelmed by the rapt attention. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Keith croaked, ducking his head to rest on Shiro's shoulder. Shiro, who hadn't been around for nearly two years and was now standing in Keith's kitchen smelling like an absolute snack to Keith's new galra senses. It was humiliating to cling to him, although Keith was too overwhelmed with emotions to let go. It didn't make sense for Shiro to be there but Keith wasn't about to question it, he would rather stab himself with his blade than drive Shiro away. "I think so." 

Shiro kept his voice low and coaxing, the deep timbre resonating right through Keith's skin and down to his bones like a lasso around his ribs. "Your mom is waving at me to take you upstairs, do you think you could show me to my room?"

Keith's split-second decision didn't require a moment's thought. "You're staying with me in my room."

"I don't think that's appropriate," Shiro softly chided. 

"You came all this way, didn't you? To be with me. So, _be with me_." The way Shiro blanched when Keith demanded the truth didn't bear thinking about, leaving Keith with the only option of hiding back in his arms. He sniffed back an upset sob, annoyed with himself yet adoring the heavy scent that filled his senses. "You did, didn't you? I'm the reason. You came to see me, like you said."

"Yes, you're the reason."

What did that even mean? It didn't matter. Not right then. 

"I've gotta get you up to my room," said Keith, eyelids hooded and heavy as he pried himself away, keeping one hand secured in Shiro's to tug him toward the stairs. Only the knowledge Shiro was definitely following gave Keith the impetus to move. "I need you to stay for — for a while. _Please_."

Everything in Keith screamed at him for Shiro to be taken somewhere as safe as could be.

Shiro cast a look over at Krolia and Kolivan, a nervous rabbit in a house of wolves. Krolia shrugged inscrutably, gesturing for him to follow, and Keith felt immensely satisfied when Shiro let him lead the way.

"We'll talk to Shiro later," she called up the stairs, to which Shiro yelped "Absolutely!" over a shoulder, and then there was the slam of Keith's door on their heels and Shiro … Shiro was actually in Keith's bedroom, smelling wonderful and covered in Keith's scent — 

"Whoa, _whoa_ , settle down," said Shiro, hands finding Keith's shoulders as Keith tried to lean in for another hug. Keith met that concerned grey gaze head-on, blinking widely, and he noticed small details about Shiro only seen before in photos. The way his hair was brushed back, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes from needing glasses, how much bigger he was in person. Had Keith forgotten it all so easily? "Keith, you just dragged me upstairs in front of your mom. Are you sure you know where we are?"

"In my bedroom." _Obviously_. Keith's ears pricked at the sound of Shiro's uncertain huff and he offered his hands for Shiro to take, which he did hesitantly. "It's okay, this isn't a sex thing."

Shiro's ears turned pink. "I didn't think it was."

"You're the one needlessly pointing out we're in my bedroom."

"It was a pretty forward invitation," said Shiro, jaw tightening. "In front of your _family_."

Keith led him to the bed, sitting down first and patting the covers. It was easier to think with the walls of his bedroom around them, hemming them in. Faintly mortified at his own behaviour, his levels of Fuck It were also at their highest thanks to an abstract sense of self-awareness, able to better regulate his new instincts when Shiro was near. 

Like now, hesitating to take a seat beside Keith.

"Please? _Shiro_."

Shiro caved and sat. He looked at their hands and twisted around to sit on a bent leg, facing Keith with earnest concern etched into every inch of his tense body. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing here."

"You don't seem surprised by fact I'm a giant cat, Shiro. I'm guessing Lance told you about this." It was a safe bet. 

"Actually, it was Matt."

Keith stilled. How the fuck had _Matt_ gotten wind of this? As if Keith wasn't humiliated enough. He was going to murder Lance with his bare hands. Bare _claws_. They would finally have a practical use.

"Lance told Pidge who told her brother," Shiro went on, reaching out to stroke Keith's arm. Keith sagged under the touch, tilting toward him. "It's okay, he was just concerned for you."

"I'm going to murder Lance," Keith said, still stuck on that very important train of thought. "With my knife," he clarified. "Slowly."

"Sure, but it might be better if you stayed in here with me a while," said Shiro neutrally, and it was exactly the thing Keith needed to hear because it made him refocus on that scent which was no longer overwhelming but still there, strong and thick. He nodded and Shiro looked around the room, taking note of this and that. "Is it alright if we take the blankets off your bed and sit on the floor? That might be, uh, _beneficial,_ if you need the physical reassurance while you're going through this."

Shiro wasn't running away. He planned on sticking around. More than that, he was offering to hold Keith again.

Keith's skin crawled with need.

"God, please."

A little alarmed by the whine threaded through Keith's words, Shiro deftly striped the bed to make a pile of pillows on the floor with the blanket half on top. He sat with his back to the wall and Keith needed no coaxing to crawl right into his lap and bury his nose in the curve of Shiro's neck, panting harshly with relief as foreign instinct took over yet again to cloud his mind. His shoulders began to shake and Shiro held him tighter, flopping the remaining blanket around them in a cocoon that eventually helped Keith to stop shivering. The balm of Shiro's deep voice gave instructions to Keith's very bones again, taking away the strain and pressure Keith's body was feeling, and it was a peace like he had never known.

Shiro had always had an effect on him, sure, but never literally.

"Shh, _shh_ … It's okay, I'm here. You're okay, Keith. You can rest now."

Over and over, soft promises lodged like daggers between Keith's ribs so he had to cling to them with his heart, unwilling to let them be forgotten. When he woke up the lighting in the room was darker and Shiro had laid his cheek on Keith's head with only the absent brush of his fingers over Keith's back letting him know Shiro was still awake. Keith stared at the arm in front of him before belatedly realising out loud,

"Your floating arm's gone."

Shiro's subdued laughter shook through to Keith, who was allowed to look more closely when Shiro gave him a squeeze. "You finally picked up on my hugs being fifty-percent more effective, huh?"

Keith grumbled, running his palm up the new tech to where it solidly met the port, the only familiar piece of it he recognised. He slumped sideways, back into Shiro's warmth, and encouraged him to go back to holding him while Keith curled up his own arms between them. 

"Hunk and Pidge designed it, then Matt updated it before I left Atlas."

"What do you mean," said Keith with a frown, "weren't you on Earth?"

"Keith, I've been stationed on Atlas for over a year."

 _Well, fuck._

They both fell silent. Keith had to wonder if Shiro was thinking about their estranged friendship too, whether guilt was the commanding factor in him being there. He rubbed his nose along the folded collar of Shiro's henley, then the back of his ear to smear his own scent over Shiro's. He gave zero fucks about how weird it was, too tired to care beyond how good it felt when Shiro cupped the back of his head and played with his hair in something like an apology. 

"Keith," Shiro said into the quiet room, tipping his chin down to try and catch his eye. His softened voice carried more weight, making it impossible for Keith to refuse. "It wouldn't have mattered where I was, I would have come."

Heat prickled at the corners of Keith's eyes again, just like it had when a wall of Shiro's scent had slammed into him downstairs. 

"I would have come," Shiro repeated, barely above a whisper. Was he insisting for Keith's benefit or his own? Keith pressed their cheeks together in a closer embrace that they held for a prolonged moment, soaking up the perfect intimacy of Shiro's breath wisping down his neck. 

"I was scared," he admitted, raw and exposed from the inside-out by doing so. "Scared that I'd ask and you wouldn't even _answer_ any more."

"Oh, Keith ..."

No tears came (thanks to Keith mostly returned pride) but he nestled in cosily when prompted. "You came all the way out here, abandoning Atlas, just because I said I wanted to see you?"

"Veronica might take issue with your wording there, but yeah." Shiro's lips muffled by Keith's temple. "I did."

"You're a terrible Admiral."

Once again Keith felt rather heard Shiro laugh. He looked up and Shiro met his eyes with a steady sort of affection, the kind Keith had missed terribly. 

That was his excuse for why he kissed him.

Shiro's eyes flew open at the brush of a mouth over his own and his hands on Keith twitched, locked in place where they cuddled, but as they stared each other down their lashes lowered at the same time, every nudge of Keith's breathless lips dragged dry and chaste over Shiro's, and he was not pushed away. Only when Shiro tilted his head with a solemn frown did Keith quietly panic.

"Is this because of what you're going through?" asked Shiro quietly as though scared to break the tentative spell that had fallen over them, combing through Keith's hair as he searched his face for an answer. He was so patient, as ever. "Is this the change?"

In a way, yes, because it made Keith bolder, but solid devotion served as the foundation for Keith's forwardness, a years-old love that compounded with the fact Shiro had upped and left his life behind just because Keith had said he needed to see him while ill. Shiro had heard along the grapevine of Keith's condition and put two and two together with the messages, coming to the conclusion that this was where he needed to be. It wasn't all mindless instinct, there was love there and Shiro still returned it; maybe returned more than Keith had dared to hope for in the past few years.

It stole Keith's breath away to think about.

Taking Shiro's normal hand, Keith brought it to his lips. Separating the ring finger from the others, he raked his fangs over it; Shiro hissed but didn't pull away, letting him scratch up the skin where metal had once sat. A kiss pressed over the new marks and Keith glanced up through his hair, letting out a rattling sigh. His voice cracked.

"This is all you and me, Shiro. Wasn't it always supposed to be?"

It was Shiro's turn to look like he might cry, cupping Keith's cheek with his wounded hand and tugging on him to bring them closer, dropping to their sides on the plush blankets that ate them up and blocked out the world beyond soft edges. Their own space. A _nest_ , some part of Keith's new instincts acknowledged with satisfaction; the action itself lodged in Keith's fevered hindbrain as a positive sign.

"You want this? You want _me_?" asked Shiro, clarifying even as Keith nodded and they both touched each other for the pure, shy joy, of it, Keith pawing at Shiro's chest that smelled so good and grasping his hips, _kneading._ Shiro drew Keith into a hug where they lay, chinning his crown with what sounded like a dry sob, keeping himself collected for Keith's sake. _As always._ Strained as Shiro was from the onslaught of emotion between them, he shook his head and Keith all but felt him mentally collect himself. He was so good, so deserving, Keith would later regret the fuzzy way his mind instantly forgave him everything but for now this was okay, this was real. Keith needing Shiro was real. "I don't think I can trust anything you say until you're back to normal. I can't take advantage of you, Keith."

"Shiro, look at me. Please."

A purr settled in Keith's chest as he rested his head beside Shiro's so they were eye-level on the pillows. It was his turn now to stroke the fade up into Shiro's short hair, an irresistible purr growing louder when Shiro tipped their foreheads together. 

"Keith, I — "

"You're it," said Keith, knowing it was true. It didn't take instinct or hormones to admit it, all of that was secondary to the burning, ardent love he had felt for this man since Keith was sixteen. Funny, how someone as terrified of losing Shiro as Keith could feel so brave and certain that he couldn't let this chance pass by. "I want us to be together. If that's not why you came, that's alright, but please … Let it be the reason you _stay_."

This time, it was Shiro who kissed Keith.

*

Keith awoke to intense cramps in his stomach and legs, groaning as he tried to extricate himself from Shiro's embrace and sit up. Shiro stirred, looked bewildered and concerned, and then finally chastised as he placed a hand on Keith's shoulder. He was croaky with sleep too. Who knew how long they had spent curled up in Keith's bedroom on the floor while Keith's hormones set themselves in check?

"Keith, are you okay?"

"My stomach hurts," Keith gasped, dropping back to the blankets and curling up. "Fuck, can you get me some water?"

"Yeah, sure."

Shiro disappeared into the en suite, the light that blinked on disturbing the shadows of Keith's room. He returned with the water, flicking on a small lamp along the way so he could see, and helped Keith take two long sips. When Shiro asked if he could hold Keith again it made Keith's eyes crinkle despite the pain, the more rational part of his mind returning with the obtuse pain in his lower body, which sucked because he would have much preferred to be high while sore.

"Please," he said, brimming with shy delight when he felt Shiro's arm curl around his waist and a warm hand splay on his navel, simply resting there to impart its warmth. Keith shuddered, Shiro's breath in his hair, and his brain finally caught up with the stupid part of his instincts that had gone into overdrive.

He had asked Shiro to be his, just like that. A little more desperate than Keith had always imagined he would be, but Shiro had basically said yes. Hadn't he? If Shiro hadn't been holding him Keith would have wanted the ground to swallow him up.

"I'm sorry for dragging you out here, I know you're busy," he said to the pillows.

Behind him, Shiro drew closer. He sounded firm. "I've been a terrible friend, I know, but you can always ask for my help when you need it. If I've ever given the impression you couldn't ..."

Keith rolled onto his back, a hand covering the one on his middle. Shiro caught his eye. "You're the Admiral of the Coalition, Shiro. I get it."

"No," said Shiro, shaking his head, "I have a lot to make up for, mistakes that I can't undo, and I know that. Keith, I'm so ..."

" _Shh_ ," Keith hushed him. He nestled in closer until the tips of their noses touched. He wanted to cry but he couldn't, not when Shiro needed him to be the strong one. "We have time now. Don't we?"

Shiro looked relieved when he nodded, and they settled down together. He ran a thumb over Keith's cheek, brushing through the light dusting of purple fur there. It itched and he smiled when Keith wrinkled his nose, the mood turning lighter; they could discuss their fractured recent history later. "You look cute like this."

" _Shiro_."

"A little cat."

"I'm going to claw your eyes out," laughed Keith, low and quiet so as not to draw attention to the bedroom from his mom even as his heart sang at the compliments. The teasing. Shiro, flirting with him. With _Keith_. "It's not permanent, if you were worried about that — "

"Keith, you're beautiful like this, just like you usually are." How Shiro found the strength to say things so brazenly heartfelt was beyond Keith, unless — ? Had Shiro been keeping his own attraction under wraps too? Not as long as Keith but the way he seemed so certain and relieved to be able to tell him he was lovely …

"Since when do you think I'm beautiful, Shiro?"

"For long enough that I wish I'd said it sooner, not waited until you were in distress and I was afraid of losing you again."

Keith brushed his curled knuckles along Shiro's jawline, feeling the rough line of stubble. He inhaled a shaky breath and sniffed, trying to steady his breathing that wanted to shudder and sob. "You don't have to be here, Shiro. You don't _owe_ me anything — "

"That's not why I came," said Shiro, propping up on a bent elbow so he could look down at Keith, jaw setting. He was older but gorgeous, the emotion in his eyes was as lively as Keith remembered, back before a wedding, a divorce, and years that stretched on in silence. _So beautiful too._ "I thought you didn't need me, so I never called. I didn't want to mess up your life with the Blades, not when I was a wreck after — after Curtis. I couldn't put all that on you, Keith. I threw myself into captaining Atlas instead, then they offered me the promotion and I wanted to ask you to visit, to — to stay and talk. But ..."

"Shiro, I didn't call you either." Keith hadn't been able to rationalise it at the time, too wounded from the fact Shiro had fucking _married_ someone and then buried himself in the garrison. One thing stuck out to Keith, however. "What do you mean, you were a mess?"

"I should have — " Shiro ducked his head, a sharp sniff betraying the depths of his upset. Keith pulled him down and stroked through his hair, holding a knot of sadness in his own chest that tightened the more he realised that it was both their faults; the silence had been _stupid_. So proud on his side and so damaged on Shiro's. "I should have told you I was sorry, back then. After they cleared me for active duty, maybe even before ..."

"Shiro, you're not a mess to me," Keith reassured him. Sure, Shiro had issues, but he damn well had earned them and anyone who made him feel guilty for permanently harbouring some severe fractures of his old PTSD was a piece of shit in Keith's opinion. They didn't deserve him. 

Shiro hugged in closer, head still bowed as he got his breathing under control. "I'm still sorry. If you let me, I'll make it up to you now."

"I don't care about the past, Shiro. You're all I want _now_." Keith slid his palm along a cheek to force Shiro to meet his eyes and the wetness spiking ashen lashes made his breath catch. He couldn't bear to see Shiro, of all people, crying. "And I'm not saying that because I'm purple, either."

Shiro's laugh burst out of him reluctantly and they shared a weak smile. When he brushed back Keith's hair and kissed him softly, the world stopped turning, hanging them a moment they both savoured. Keith nudged a nose with his, their smiles cementing a little stronger.

"Can I be completely honest?"

"Of course," said Shiro, who looked a little nervous.

"I hated Curtis."

" _Keith _, you did not."__

____

____

True, he hadn't. Mostly. "I did a little," he conceded, bringing Shiro's hand up to his lips to dust more kisses over his scratched ring-finger, stealing Shiro's attention. "He was so — so _bland_ , I couldn't figure out what you saw in him. What _did_ you see in him? Why was _he_ what you needed?" 

It wasn't a question Shiro could answer lightly, a solemn cast veiling his expression. He leaned down to put them closer, playing with the new pink strands of Keith's hair. 

"I was a coward who was running away," he said, with the certainty of someone who had had two years to think about it. These were just facts now, scars on a wounded heart. "I thought if I removed myself from space and all the rest of it, I'd feel grounded and be able to move on, but it didn't play out like that. Curtis _wasn't_ what I needed, Keith. He wasn't an anchor for me —" 

"Because he let you go," Keith finished, surprising Shiro. He stuck out his jaw stubbornly. "He let you go like an idiot, for whatever reasons. He —" 

"He had no idea who I really was," Shiro gently finished, soothing Keith's prickly ire. "Curtis wasn't a bad person, just … not the right one." The way Shiro looked down at Keith then, like Keith had hung all the stars in the sky, told him what Shiro was thinking. It made Keith blush. "No one else ever could have been." 

" _Shiro_ ..." 

Keith wrapped his arms around Shiro's broad shoulders and pressed up for a kiss, frustrated when he felt him flinch against his fangs. "Fuck, I can't do this with teeth like needles!" 

Shiro's laughter brightened the room, buoying Keith's mood. He pecked him sweetly on the lips, a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks around the scar that divided his features. "Guess you'll just have to save me for later." 

_Later_. Keith's insides no longer felt like knives but fluttering butterflies because there apparently _would_ be a _later_. 

He pouted. "I'll hold you to that, old timer, in case you forget." 

"That was cute when I was twenty-one, now it's just rude." 

They were still snickering in the blankets when the door opened, too immersed in each other to notice until someone cleared their throat. 

"Krolia!" Shiro almost gave himself whiplash from how fast he sat up, running a hand through his hair. "Hi, uh. We were just ..." 

Keith caught his mother's eye, tracking her mood as somewhere between amused and exasperated. His attention fell to the tray she carried and his stomach gurgled loudly, breaking the awkward silence. 

"I've brought you both breakfast," she said evenly, clearly enjoying the way Shiro sat up cross-legged and to attention. Crouched beside Keith, she ran a hand through his hair and her smile returned when he rubbed into her touch, a low purr exchanged between them. It was a far cry from the weird growl he had given her yesterday, which he still felt bad about. "You need to eat to keep your strength up. Kolivan was up before dawn cooking the fruit-meat he bought yesterday, it's cooling in the fridge." 

"Thank him for me?" said Keith, already leaning over Shiro's lap to help himself to marmalade-smothered toast and Olkari croissants. 

"Of course," said Krolia. "We've decided to stay in a hotel for the rest of the week while you're working things through with Shiro," that made Keith almost drop his toast, "but we'll only be a call away if you need us." 

On the one hand Keith was immensely grateful for the privacy, he had no idea what to expect from his transitioning body, but on the other he felt centred with Shiro at his side and no longer drifted in a haze. He tipped his head to let Krolia re-braid his hair, smoothing down all the wild strands. Shiro busied himself draining a glass of juice, eyes tactfully down. Keith pressed his leg against him to lend some reassuring comfort while talking with Krolia, discussing the stocked-up fridge further (Kolivan hadn't done anything by halves apparently), the hotel they were booked at until Friday, and how Keith was feeling ("Much better") before Krolia turned her attention to Shiro. 

He clasped his drink on his lap, looking less like the Admiral of the Coalition and more a guilty child. 

"Take care of my son, Shiro." 

"I will, ma'am." He caught Keith's eye, glancing back to Krolia. "I don't intend to let anything bad happen to him." 

"Hmm, see that you don't." Krolia gave a short nod, patted Keith between his new fluffy ears and rose fluidly with the grace of a Blade. Shiro seemed unsure whether he had just been threatened and if he should thank her for it. "There's a datapad with medical-based information on the kitchen table if either of you have questions. Anything you need to know specifically, you can call us." 

"Thanks, mom," said Keith with feeling, understated though it was. Her smile was openly warm when she left. They listened to the sound of her footsteps heading downstairs, busying themselves with the meal she had prepared. Keith wiggled his foot against Shiro's thigh. "You okay?" 

Shiro's shoulders sagged at last, having straightened up to parade-rest during Krolia's intervention. "We just got caught snuggling in your bedroom by your mom," Keith laughed at him, "I feel like I'm giving her the wrong impression." 

"That you care about me?" 

"More like I'm trying to get your fluffy butt in bed." 

"Well, aren't you?" Keith did drop his toast when Shiro tickled his foot in retaliation. "Okay, fine! She still likes you though, you have nothing to worry about." 

Shiro's frown couldn't be explained away until he spoke, admitting, "She didn't tell you I was coming to visit, did she?" 

"She _knew_?" _Wait, what._ Keith croaked. "You told her you were coming to New Daibazaal for me?" 

"I don't blame her for not bringing it up," said Shiro with a forced ease, picking at marmalade strands, "she didn't know if she could trust me to actually turn up, not after … everything." 

Keith's heart swelled. He crawled forward to pull Shiro into one of their chaste, fangless kisses, humming happily and making it linger until he felt Shiro relaxing into it. Then he grinned. "You asked my mom if you could come over." 

" _Keith_!" 

* 

The house was quiet when they made their way downstairs, Keith in the lead to point out all the spare rooms on the upstairs landing, how they were used by visiting Blades in between missions, giving Shiro a tour since Keith was back in his right mind. A little dopey from their clumsy confessions, sure, but Shiro gave him a look and reached for Keith's hand, effectively easing any apprehension he felt. 

It would surely come back as soon as his blood wasn't singing with contentment to have Shiro around, which was practically a novelty. 

They ate straight out of the bowl of fruit-meat with two forks, Keith amused by Shiro's enthusiastic approval of the juicy supplement. They raided the fridge further to find a galran dish for which Keith felt an inexplicable pang of craving and which Shiro (hilariously) couldn't pronounce, then settled together on the couch with Shiro's arm around Keith's shoulders. Their lives were different now and a serious talk would need to be held concerning how they wanted to move forward with their relationship, although there seemed to be an unspoken truce not to mention heavier subject matter. 

Not yet, anyway. 

_Shiro kept his focus on Keith and what he was going through, thumb and forefinger rubbing one of the large fluffy ears and sending shivers down Keith's spine._

"Tell me how this happened. You woke up one morning and, _poof_ , fur?" 

"Pretty much, a lot of blood too," said Keith, squeezing back Shiro's fingers when they clasped his, conveying Shiro's concern. Grey eyes bore into the side of Keith's head. "I woke up on my ship dripping in blood. I think my skin expanded or split, then healed itself, because it wasn't like I stepped out of a _flesh-suit_ or anything —" 

Shiro's lips twitched. "Thanks for the imagery." 

"Sorry. I _didn't_ do that. I woke up looking like this, called my mom and she told me to come straight home for a talk with her and Kolivan. Oh," reminded, Keith added, "and Kolivan was once a little girl, just so someone else knows besides me." 

"Kolivan?" 

"Yeah." 

Shiro looked equal shades of surprised and impressed. "I honestly can't picture that, but it's amazing what the galra can achieve when it comes to mind over matter. Are you going to experiment with what your body can do?" 

Keith bit his sore, already cut lip. It had healed but the pain helped him centre himself. Shiro's fingers laced through his. "I was just going to batten down the hatches on all of this and try to come out of it looking something like normal." 

"You _are_ normal, this is part of who you are," said Shiro, placing a soothing kiss to Keith's temple. 

"And if I go through all the shapeshifting shit and can't turn back at the end of it?" 

Shiro gave him a soft look. He twirled the fuchsia hair at the base of Keith's neck around a finger, as though having to think about it, but his patient smile said different. "Then you'll still be beautiful, Keith." 

The way Shiro let Keith push into his personal space even further was encouraging. Their lips hovered close enough to brush and Keith had to actively fight down a purr (no need to embarrass himself again so soon and he needed the practice in self-control). 

"I really want to kiss you right now," he muttered, doing so with closed lips and insisting, "Properly." 

Shiro's smile smeared warmly over Keith's as he watched him fondly. "Sounds like a good time to try out that shapeshifting you're so happy about. Can you make your teeth less _nosferatu_?" 

There's only one way to find out," Keith sighed, holding onto Shiro's hands as he sat back to concentrate. How did it even work, shape-shifting? He had no idea where to begin. 

But just like old times, Shiro was there to help. 

"Think about what you want to make happen, nothing else. Tell your body it needs to do what you want, don't pay attention to the pain. Only the success of what you're aiming for." 

That sounded like some of the articles Krolia and Kolivan had compiled. 

"Have you been reading up on this?" said Keith curiously, peeking open an eye. 

"It was a seven hour flight from Atlas," said Shiro easily, as if it was no big deal, "and Matt made it sounds like you were undergoing torture, so, yeah. I did my homework." 

Keith could almost picture Shiro on the flight over scrolling through the same useless journals he had been given. They now had the medical references compiled by Krolia and Kolivan so that if anything serious went awry they could look it up, but it was Shiro's presence that eased Keith's nerves the most. 

"Go ahead, Keith, try. Patience yields —" 

"Don't start," Keith warned with a smirk. He closed his eyes again to the sight of Shiro smiling, then took a deep breath. 

He pictured his mouth as it usually was, normal human teeth in place, and a prickling sensation made him part his lips with a snarl as he struggled to remain focused. It helped that Shiro ran a hand up his back and the other through his hair, stabilising him where he sat on his lap, and soon the prickling sensation faded to the sound of Shiro's soft gasp. 

"Keith," he said, hushed with wonder. When Keith licked his teeth they were no longer fierce needles but back to normal … mostly, at least. His canines were still a little sharp but _fuck it_ , he was certain Shiro would take a chance. 

He wasn't wrong when he opened his eyes a moment later to Shiro sitting up to kiss him, proud and delighted. 

"It didn't hurt," Keith breathed, am embarrassingly weak noise leaving his throat when Shiro traced the seam of his lips with his tongue, and then there was nothing to say at all because he was kissing Shiro, kissing him properly _at last_ after years and a lifetime of longing, and it didn't matter what Keith looked like. He buried his fingers in the short buzz of Shiro's hair, curling a fist in the longer mop atop, sinking forward on Shiro's lap until Shiro was pinned under Keith's weight and the heat of breathlessly making out affected them both so much that they broke for air. Even then, Keith's insides fluttered like butterflies when Shiro didn't stop nibbling at his jaw. His scar. 

The mark Shiro gave him was one of the only steadfast features Keith still recognised about himself.

In the cradle of Shiro's lap Keith felt his knees digging into the couch and how the press of his burgeoning erection was trapped against Shiro's stomach, but it didn't seem to bother Shiro so Keith remained where he was when he sealed a second kiss, slower than the first and spine-meltingly good, lewd in all the ways his imagination had never expected Shiro to be. It was like being claimed, invaded by slick muscle that burned away his thoughts, and he wanted more. He shifted on Shiro's lap to start a hesitant grind, still battling his heightening instincts as they began to roar in his ears, well aware he had barely been with Shiro a day after years of estrangement, but his hindbrain didn't care. He was hard and aching in his slacks, and Shiro was, _god, fuck,_ kneading his way down Keith's ass. 

It was dizzyingly good. Keith groaned and fisted Shiro's hair, wanting to look him in the eye. What he saw there made him moan into that open mouth. Shiro was just as affected as Keith, pink-cheeked with a healthy blush under the line of his scar. He held Keith's gaze as he rolled his hips and suddenly Keith could feel it, the long line of Shiro's cock rigid in his pants against his own, the angle shifted to something infinitely better as they panted. 

"You're hard," he said, stupidly. 

"Got me there," said Shiro, a breathy, somewhat guilty smile in his voice. His attention skimmed to the sides of Keith's head, confusing Keith for a moment before he felt a hand capturing and rubbing one of his ears. He hissed as his hips buckled, rutting against Shiro of their own accord. "You like being touched," said Shiro confidently, kisses bussing the corner of Keith's mouth as it hung open on a variety of humiliating moans. "You always did." 

Keith whimpered. 

It was true, he had always been weak for Shiro's hands roaming his body, whether briefly or lingering in one of their hugs, nothing compared. Nothing fired him up the same way. Keith had taken people to his bed before, once or twice for the sheer novelty of it, but in the moment Shiro's thumb rubbed circles along the inside of his galra ear and found a magical spot that sent lightning right to his answering cock, Keith felt like he was a virgin all over again, completely out of his depth. His moaning turned loud, making Shiro's eyes widen and the clothed cock nestled against his own twitch in answer. 

Open-mouthed in a haze of pleasure with Shiro's spit still shining on his lips, lashes damp with emotion, Keith reached into his slacks to take a hold of himself and start stroking, unable to resist. He could feel Shiro supporting him below, a wall of muscle and cloyingly thick scent telling Keith he was safe, everything adding up to make jerking off in his best friend's lap a perfectly acceptable response as he got his ear rubbed. 

He felt a little stupid. 

"Keith, you look so good." 

He flattened his ears back to his head when the pleasure began to spike, the front of his slacks hiding his cock from view now stained with a dark wet patch. Shiro was so hard against him, if Keith ground down he could feel him right under the tight rub of his balls. 

"Fuck, I … _Shiro_ …" 

"You're doing so well, Keith, so good. Touch yourself, baby, let's make it all better." 

"Oh, god ..." 

Keith cracked his eyes open to the sight of Shiro watching him with a dazed, admiring expression. He tasted a groan when they surged into a hungry kiss and precome dripped more freely into Keith's fist as it flew over his cock. 

"Baby," Shiro was going to kill him with that name, curious and gentle, "Baby, can you come just from this?" 

The hand playing with his sensitive ear rubbed harder and Keith cried out, hips jerking reflexively. Shiro kissed his cheek, hushing Keith's wild whimpering; a day ago Keith hadn't dreamt he would see Shiro for another year, let alone be on the brink of coming on his lap. 

He sobbed openly, blunted canines biting his lip as he tried to stave off the need to come but Shiro wasn't having it and rubbed the sweet spot in Keith's ear with firm circular motions and then Keith was gone, spilling over his fist in his pants as Shiro cooed him through his orgasm. His ears remained flat against his hair as Keith hid in the curve of Shiro's neck, catching his breath in the dozy afterglow that followed. 

"There you go," said Shiro softly, now back to petting Keith's back from hip to shoulder and back again, fingers running over smooth skin and furred alike. "All better." 

The brief, ensuing silence was blissful. 

Keith licked his lips, nose twitching as he scented the air. His dissatisfaction at not picking up Shiro's release went straight to his bones and he sat up, swaying a little with the hedonistic hum of pleasure still alight in his limbs. He shook his head, "No." 

Shiro frowned; before he could reply Keith kissed him. A line of spit briefly connected them when he leaned back, pointedly squirming on Shiro's still very much rigid dick, eliciting a gasp from its owner. 

"No," he explained, voice husky with arousal. It was an easily done thing to slide down between his legs until his knees hit the floor, deeply pleased when he saw Shiro's eyes widen in comprehension. A shade of embarrassment briefly ghosted over Keith's face and he had to duck his head as he started peeling open Shiro's pants, yanking them down. His claws were excellent at getting a grip on the fabric and dragging it away. "I need you to come, too." 

The tension in his shoulders melted when he felt Shiro petting his hair and he chanced a glance up. 

"You don't have to do this, it's alright." Shiro, while obviously too hard to do anything but come one way or another, gave Keith every out he could want. He was beautifully flushed, limned in the violet sunset of the suns that poured through the lounge windows. "It'll be alright, Keith." 

"I know," he said, lowering his gaze to the underwear that served as one last barrier between them, the walls put up by both men after years apart now crumbled around Keith's knees on the floor. All that remained was this. 

Taking Shiro for his own, finally. 

"I know," Keith repeated, licking his lips as he dragged down Shiro's boxers to reveal the largest cock he had ever seen, human or otherwise. The fingers snarled in his hair tightened by increments when his breath poured over the sticky crown. "But I wasn't lying, I … I really do need you to come for me, Shiro." 

"Keith ..." 

Shiro's cockhead was incredibly soft as Keith dragged his parted lips over it, lashing the sticky slit with his tongue and making Shiro groan. He glanced up to see those grey eyes darken with lust and, emboldened, wrapped a hand around the thick base to steady Shiro as he guided him back into his mouth. He suckled on the tip with dutiful slowness, humming happily around the salt-tanged skin as Shiro panted above and had his endurance tested. Keith laved his way down the shaft along a vein, lapping up any precome that spilled along the way, finding his way back to the slit with investigatory nuzzles that drove Shiro wild. Rubbing his soft galra ears along the side of Shiro's cock had the desired effect of making Shiro's hips on the sofa grind up reflexively and he smugly pressed Shiro back down, confidently meeting the accusing glare he received. 

"You said you think I'm cute like this," he murmured, licking his name into Shiro's skin with kittenish flicks of tongue. Pride bloomed in Keith's chest when the fist in his hair petted him, although Shiro cheated and kneaded the base of his ears to elicit a whine for himself. "You … You really do, don't you?" 

"You're beautiful no matter what, Keith," said Shiro softly, a roughness underlying his voice that Keith wanted to hear every day for the rest of his life. 

Maybe that was what started him purring when he took Shiro into his mouth. Largely inexperienced despite past trysts with aliens, it was all too easy to drink down Shiro's cock by inches as the purr that Keith felt deep in his ribcage vibrated up through the cushioning tongue holding that cock's weight, the wispy gasps and cursing above only making him settle in more, pulling off to the tip as he steadied his breathing and descending again with a stronger purr. Shiro could barely keep his hips still this time and it was down to Keith to steady them, clutching at bare skin and raking his sharp claws over an iliac curve, leaving light scratch-marks leading down to Shiro's worshipped cock. 

"Fuck, _oh fuck_ , K-Keith," Shiro pleaded, voice thin and head tossed back on the couch, "I can't last, baby." 

Keith went faster and Shiro let loose a helpless, submissive noise that was somewhere between a whine and a moan, the most beautiful sound in the universe. As Keith lost himself in the scent and taste of his mate, he almost missed the moment Shiro's navel clenched and he shot his load with a yelp, managing to catch a mouthful of the hot mess before he had to lean back and let Shiro pour the rest over his open mouth, drips sliding down Keith's marked cheek. A spatter of globs stuck to his fur around the scar. Panting harshly like Shiro above, who was wrecked where he lay back on the couch, he gave into his instincts and wiped his face clean, grooming the come off his fingers with long, satisfied licks. Once happy it was all taken care of, he nuzzled the softening line of Shiro's erection (to further whimpers but no protests) and cleaned him up with his tongue, finally tucking him back into his pants. 

Shiro's head lolled when Keith demanded his seat back in his lap, weak arms wrapping loosely around Keith's middle; Shiro hummed and didn't comment when Keith started licking up his neck, more grooming instincts that were riding the high of the afterglow, feeding on the scent of Keith's mate, and they shared a dizzyingly happy giggle when their eyes met; the way Shiro cupped Keith's cheek and gently brushed a thumb over the new mark there made Keith well up with contentment, purring softly as he tucked his face in the curve of Shiro's neck. 

Keith felt deliriously happy, right where he should be. 

The viewscreen on the wall pipped with an incoming call, drawing simultaneous huffs of complaint as it broke the spell. Keith pecked Shiro on the lips and obediently let him up to look over at the caller ID. 

"That's not my mom or Kolivan," said Keith. "Could be one of Lance's dozen new IDs, he never settles on a username for long." 

The tension in Shiro as he sat up further almost unseated Keith altogether but a large prosthetic hand caught the small of his back. Keith frowned, brushing silver hair out of Shiro's clearing, focused eyes. Worry started to descend like a shroud over their happy bubble, the suddenly harried expression Shiro wore sending ice-water down Keith's neck after their first time together. 

"Shiro, do you know who that is?" 

Bewildered, Shiro tore his eyes away from the ID to look up at Keith on his lap, blinking owlishly in confusion. Something in Keith's stomach knotted even before he heard him say, "It's Curtis." 


End file.
